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Chap.!---— Copyright No.- 
Shelf— 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





























































































































































































































































































































5 9712 

jl_ OI'hj y ot 

j ‘Vv Ktct.«eo 

OCT 11 1900 

C»fyngtil entry 

SECOND COPY. 

Ofrltwenw) to 

OKOttf DIVISION, 

PCI. xajaoiL. 



7 


Copyright, igoo 

ROBERT HOWARD RUSSELL 


Printed in the United States 







- / 3 H o v. £ q 



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Page 


Page 

Bed in Summer 

2 

The Wind 

3 s 

Rain 

5 

The Swing 

4 1 

Young Night Thought 

6 

The Cow 

4 2 

Mg Shadow 

8 

Happy Thought 

44 

A Thought 

it 

My Bed is a Boat 

45 

At the Seaside 

12 

The Land of Nod 

46 

Windy Nights 

l 3 

Keepsake Mill 

48 

Pirate Story 

1 4 

The Lamplighter 

49 

Foreign Lands 

16 

Looking-Glass River 

5 ° 

Whole Duty of Children 

i8 

Winter-Time 

5 - 

A Good Play 

l 9 

Fairy Bread 

55 

System 

20 

Foreign Children 

5 6 

The Land of Counterpane 

2 3 

The Moon 

5 8 

A Good Boy 

24 

The Sun’s Travels 

60 

Looking Forward 

26 

Time to Rise 

61 

Good and Bad Children 

2 7 

The Hayloft 

62 

Marching Song 

28 

Singing 

6 5 

Auntie’s Shirts 

3 1 

Farewell to the Farm 

66 

Travel 

3 2 

NORTH-WEST PASSAGE 


Where Go the Boats ? 

34 

Shadow March 

68 

Escape at Bedtime 

3 6 

In Port 

70 

From a Railway Carriage 

37 

Good Night 

73 













THE CHILD ALONE 


The Unseen Playmate 

Page 

76 

The 

Land of Story Books 

Page 

86 

My Treasures 

79 

The 

Little Land 

88 

My Ship and I 

80 

Armies in the Fire 

90 

Picture Books in Winter 

82 

My 

Kingdom 

93 

Block City 

84 






• 

GARDEN 

DAYS 


Night and Day 


96 

Summer Sun 

102 

Nest Eggs 


98 

The Floicers 

io 3 

The Dumb Soldier 


99 

Autumn Fires 

104 

The Gardener 


100 

Historical Associations 

106 


ENVOYS 


To 

My Mother 

no 

To 

Auntie 

n 3 

To 

Willie and Henrietta 

hi 

To 

My Name-Child 

114 

To 

Minnie 

112 

To 

Any Reader 

11 5 





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BED IN SUMMER 


In winter I get up at night 
And dress by yellow candle-light. 

In summer, quite the other way, 

I have to go to bed by day. 

I have to go to bed and see 
The birds still hopping on the tree, 
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet 
Still going past me in the street. 

And does it not seem hard to you. 
When all the sky is clear and blue. 
And I should like so much to play. 
To have to go to bed by day? 



is 
















































































































































































YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT 


All night long and every night. 

When my mamma puts out the light, 
I see the people marching by, 

As plain as day, before my eye. 

Armies and emperors and kings. 

All carrying different kinds of things. 
And marching in so grand a way. 
You never saw the like by day. 

So line a show was never seen, 

At the great circus on the green ; 

For every kind of beast and man 
Is marching in that caravan. 

At first they move a little slow, 

But still the faster on they go. 

And still beside them close I keep 
Until we reach the town of Sleep. 





























MY SHADOW 


I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me. 

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. 

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; 

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. 

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— 

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; 

For he sometimes shoots up taller, like an india-rubber ball. 

And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all. 

He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play. 

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. 

He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see; 

I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me ! 

One morning, very early, before the sun was up, 

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; 

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy head. 

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. 








































11 


































































































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TVJhenever the moon and stars are set, 
v " Whenever the wind is high, 

All night long in the dark and wet, 

A man goes riding by. 

Late in the night when the fires are out, 
Why does he gallop and gallop about ? 

Whenever the trees are crying aloud, 
And ships are tossed at sea. 

By, on the highway, low and loud. 

By at the gallop goes he ; 

By at the gallop he goes, and then 
By he comes back at the gallop again. 



































































PIRATE STORY 


Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing. 

Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea. 

Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, 

And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. 

Where shall we adventure to day that we’re afloat. 

Wary of the weather and steering by a star? 

Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, 

To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar ? 

Hi ! but here’s a squadron a-rowing on the sea— 

Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar ! 

Quick, and we’ll escape them, they’re as mad as they can be, 

The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore. 


14 



15 


































FOREIGN LANDS 


Up into the cherry tree 

Who should climb but little me ? 

I held the trunk with both my hands 
And looked abroad on foreign lands. 

I saw the next door garden lie. 
Adorned with flowers before my eye, 
And many pleasant places more 
That I had never seen before. 

I saw the dimpling river pass 
And be the sky’s blue looking-glass ; 
The dusty roads go up and down 
With people tramping in to town. 

If I could find a higher tree 
Farther and farther I should see. 

To where the grown-up river slips 
Into the sea among the ships, 

To where the roads on either hand 
Lead onward into fairy land, 

Where all the children dine at five, 
And all the playthings come alive. 


10 




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A GOOD PLAY 

We built a ship upon the stairs 
All made of the back-bedroom chairs. 
And filled it full of sofa pillows 
To go a-sailing on the billows. 

We took a saw and several nails. 

And water in the nursery pails ; 

And Tom said, “ Let us also take 
An apple and a slice of cake;”— 
Which was enough for Tom and me 
To go a-sailmg on, till tea. 

We sailed along for days and days, 
And had the very best of plays; 

But Tom fell out and hurt his knee, 
So there was no one left but me. 































































SYSTEM 

Every night my prayers I say, 

And get my dinner every day ; 

And every day that I’ve been good, 

I get an orange after food. 

The child that is not clean and neat, 
With lots of toys and things to eat, 
He is a naughty child, I’m sure— 

Or else his dear papa is poor. 


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THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE 

When I was sick and lay a-bed, 

I had two pillows at my head. 

And all my toys beside me lay 
To keep me happy all the day. 

And sometimes for an hour or so 
I watched my leaden soldiers go. 

With different uniforms and drills. 
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills; 

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets 
All up and down among the sheets ; 

Or brought my trees and houses out. 
And planted cities all about. 

I was the giant great and still 
That sits upon the pillow-hill, 

And sees before him, dale and plain. 
The pleasant land of counterpane. 











































































A GOOD BOY 

I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day, 

I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play. 

And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood, 
And 1 am very happy, for I know that I’ve been good. 

My bed is waiting cocl and fresh, with linen smooth and fair 
And I must off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer. 

I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise, 

No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes 

But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn. 

And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn. 


24 



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GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN 


Children, you are very little, 

And your bones are very brittle ; 

If you would grow great and stately, 
You must try to walk sedately. 


You must still be bright and quiet. 
And content with simple diet; 

And remain, through all bewild’ring. 
Innocent and honest children. 


Happy hearts and happy faces. 
Happy play in grassy places 
That was how, in ancient ages. 
Children grew to kings and sages. 


But the unkind and the unruly. 
And the sort who eat unduly, 
They must never hope for glory- 
Theirs is quite a different story ! 


Cruel children, crying babies. 

All grow up as geese and gabies, 
Hated , as their age increases. 

By their nephews and their nieces. 











MARCHING SONG 


Bring the comb and play upon it! 
Marching, here we come ! 

Willie cocks his highland bonnet, 
Johnnie beats the drum. 

Mary Jane commands the party, 

Peter leads the rear ; 

Fleet in time, alert and hearty, 

Each a Grenadier! 

All in the most martial manner 
Marching double-quick ; 

While the napkin like a banner 
Waves upon the stick! 

Here’s enough of fame and pillage. 
Great commander Jane ! 

Now that we’ve been round the villag 
Let’s go home again. 


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TRAVEL 


I should like to rise and go 
Where the golden apples grow ; 
Where below another sky 
Parrot islands anchored lie, 

And, watched by cockatoos and goats, 
Lonely Crusoes building boats; — 
Where in sunshine reaching out 
Eastern cities, miles about, 

Are with mosque and minaret 
Among sandy gardens set, 

And the rich goods from near and 
far 

Hang for sale in the bazaar ; 

Where the Great Wall round China 
goes. 

And on one side the desert blows. 
And with bell and voice and drum, 
Cities on the other hum ; 

Where are forests, hot as fire. 

Wide as England, tall as a spire. 
Full of apes and cocoa-nuts 
And the negro hunters’ huts;— 
Where the knotty crocodile 
Lies and blinks in the Nile, 


And the red flamingo flies 
Hunting fish before his eyes ; 

Where in jungles near and far, 
Man-devouring tigers are. 

Lying close and giving ear 

Lest the hunt be drawing near. 

Or a comer-by be seen 
Swinging in a palanquin 
Where among the desert sands 
Some deserted city stands. 

All its children, sweep and prince, 

Grown to manhood ages since. 

Not a foot in street or house, 

Not a stir of child or mouse. 

And when kindly falls the night, 

In all the town no spark of light, 

There I’ll come when I’m a man 

With a camel caravan; 

Light a fire in the gloom 
Of some dusty dining-room; 

See the pictures on the walls. 
Heroes, fights and festivals ; 

And in a corner find the toys 
Of the old Egyptian boys. 































WHERE GO THE BOATS 


Dark brown is the river. 

Golden is the sand. 

It flows along for ever. 

With trees on either hand. 

Green leaves a-floating, 

Castles of the foam, 

Boats of mine a-boating— 

Whe re will all come home ? 

On goes the river 

And out past the mill. 

Away down the valley. 

Away down the hill. 

Away down the river, 

A hundred miles or more, 

Other little children 

Shall bring my boats a>hore. 






35 





































ESCAPE AT BEDTIME 



The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone 

out 

Through the blinds and the windows and bars ; 

And high overhead and all moving about. 

There were thousands of millions of stars. 

There ne’er were such thousands of leaves on 
a tree, 

Nor of people in church or the Park, 

As the crowds of the stars that looked down 

upon me. 

And that glittered and winked in the dark. 

The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, 

and all. 

And the star of the sailor, and Mars, 

These shone in the sky, and the pail by the wall. 

Would be half full of water and stars. 

They saw me at last, and they chased me with 
cries. 

And they soon had me packed into bed ; 

But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes. 

And the stars going round in my head. 


3<i 


































F ASTER than fairies, faster than witches. 
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; 

And charging along like troops in a battle. 

All through the meadows the horses and cattle: 
All of the sights of the hill and the plain 
Fly as thick as driving rain ; 

And ever again, in the wink of an eye. 

Painted stations whistle by. 


Here is a child who clambers and scrambles. 

All by himself and gathering brambles ; 

He re is a tramp who stands and gazes ; 

And there is the green for stringing the daisies ! 
Here is a cart run away in the road 
Lumping along with man and load ; 

And here is a mill and there is a river: 

Each a glimpse and gone for ever! 














































THE WIND 


I saw you toss the kites on high 
And blow the birds about the sky ; 

And all around I heard you pass, 

Like ladies’ skirts across the grass— 

O wind, a-blowing all day long, 

O wind, that sings so loud a song! 

I saw the different things you did, 

But always you yourself you hid. 

I felt you push, I heard you call, 

I could not see yourself at all— 

O wind, a-blowing all day long, 

O wind, that sings so loud a song! 

O you that are so strong and cold, 

O blower, are you young or old ? 

Are you a beast of field and tree. 

Or just a stronger child than me ? 

O wind, a-blowing all day long, 

O wind, that sings so loud a song ! 

































H OW do you like to go up in a 
swing. 

Up in the air so blue ? 

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing 
Ever a child can do! 

Up in the air and over the wall. 

Till I can see so wide, 

Rivers and trees and cattle and all 
Over the countryside— 

Till I look down on the garden green, 
Down on the roof so brown— 

Up in the air I go flying again. 

Up in the air and down ! 




































THE COW 


The friendly cow all red and white, 

I love with all my heart: 

She gives me cream with all her might. 
To eat with apple-tart. 

She wanders lowing here and there. 

And yet she cannot s ray, 

All in the pleasant open air, 

The pleasant light of day ; 

And blown by all the winds that pass 
And wet with all the showers. 

She walks among the meadow grass 
And eats the meadow flowers. 



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MY BED IS A BOAT 

My bed is like a little boat; And sometimes things to bed I take. 

Nurse helps me in when I embark; As prudent sailors have to do: 
She girds me in my sailor’s coat Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake, 

And starts me in the dark. Perhaps a toy or two. 


At night I go on board and say 

Good night to all my friends on shore; 
I shut my eyes and sail away 
And see and hear no more. 


All night across the dark we steer: 

But when the day returns at last. 
Safe in my room, beside the pier, 

I find my vessel fast. 


45 









































































THE LAND OF NOD 


From breakfast on through all the day 
At home among my friends I stay; 

But every night I go abroad 

Afar into the land of Nod. 

All by myself I have to go. 

With none to tell me what to do- 

All alone beside the streams 

And up the mountain-sides of dreams. 

The strangest things are there for me. 
Both things to eat and things to see. 
And many frightening sights abroad 

Till morning in the land of Nod. 

Try as I like to find the way, 

I never can get back by day. 

Nor can remember plain and clear 
The curious music that I hear. 


4G 



47 



























O VER the borders, a sin without pardon. 

Breaking the branches and crawling below, 

Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, 
Down by the banks of the river, we go. 

Here is the mill with the humming of thunder. 

Here is the weir with the wonder of foam. 

Here is the sluice with the race running under— 
Marvellous places, though handy to home! 

Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller. 

Stiller the note of the birds on the hill ; 

Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller. 

Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill. 

Years may go by, and the wheel in the river 
Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day. 

Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever 
Long after all of the boys are away. 

Home from the Indies and home from the ocean. 

Heroes and soldiers we all shall come home ; 

Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion. 
Turning and churning that river to foam. 

You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled, 

I with your marble of Saturday last. 

Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled. 

Here we shall meet and remember the past. 


48 

























THE LAMP-LIGHTER 


My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky ; 

It’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by; 

For every night at tea-time and before you take your seat. 

With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the 

street. 

Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea. 

And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be; 

But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I’m 
to do, 

O Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with 
you ! 

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door. 

And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more; 

And O! before you hurry by with ladder and with light, 

O Leerie, sec a little child and nod to him to-ni ghtl 


41) 






















LOOKING GLASS RIVER 








Smooth it slides upon its travel, 
Here a wimple, there a gleam- 
O the clean gravel ! 

O the smooth stream! 

Sailing blossoms, silver fishes, 

Paven pools as clear as air 
How a child wishes 
To live down there ! 

We can see our coloured faces 
Floating on the shaken pool 
Down in cool places, 

Dim and very cool ; 

Till a wind or water wrinkle. 
Dipping marten, plumping trout, 
Spreads in a twinkle 
And blots all out. 

See the rings pursue each other ; 
All below grows black as ni ght. 
Just as if mother 
Had blown out the light! 

Patience, children, just a minute 
See the spreading circles die ; 

The stream and all in it 
Will clear by-and-by. 


50 




51 
























WINTER TIME 


Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, 

A frosty, fiery sleepy-head ; 

Blinks but an hour or two; and then. 

A blood-red orange, sets again. 

Before the stars have left the skies. 

At morning in the dark I rise ; 

And shivering in my nakedness, 

By the cold candle, bathe and dress. 

Close by the jolly fire I sit 
To warm my frozen bones a bit; 

Or, with a reindeer-sled, explore 
The colder countries round the door. 

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap 
Me in my comforter and cap: 

The cold wind burns my face, and blows 
Its frosty pepper up my nose. 

Black are my steps on silver sod ; 

Thick blows my frosty breath abroad ; 

And tree and house, and hill and lake. 

Are frosted like a wedding-cake. 


62 



























































55 























































































FOREIGN CHILDREN 


Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, 

Little frostv Eskimo, 

/ 

Little Turk or fapanee, 

O! don’t you wish that you were me ? 

You have seen the scarlet trees 
And the lions over seas; 

You have eaten ostrich eggs. 

And turned the turtles off their legs. 

Such a life is very fine. 

But it’s not so nice as mine; 

You must often, as you trod, 

Have wearied not to be abroad. 

You have curious things to eat, 

I am fed on proper meat; 

You must dwell beyond the foam. 
But I am safe and live at home. 

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow. 

Little frosty Eskimo, 

Little Turk or Japance, 

O! don’t you wish that you were me ? 































THE MOON 

The moon has a face like the clock in the hall ; 

She shines on thieves on the garden walk 

On streets and fields and harbour quays. 

And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees. 

The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse. 

The howling dog by the door of the house. 

The bat that lies in bed at noon. 

All love to be out by the light of the moon. 

But all of the things that belong to the day 

Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way ; 

And flowers and children close their eyes 
Till up in the morning the sun shall arise. 


5S 





















T he sun is not a-bed, when I 

At night upon my pillow lie; 
Still round the earth his way he takes. 
And morning after morning makes. 

While here at home, in shining day. 
We round the sunny garden play, 

Each little Indian sleepy-head 
Is being kissed and put to bed. 

And when at eve I rise from tea, 

Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea, 
And all the children in the West 
Are getting up and being dressed. 


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THE HAYLOFT 


Through all the pleasant meadow-side 
The grass grew shoulder-high, 

Till the shining scythes went far and wide 
And cut it down to dry. 

These green and sweetly smelling crops 
They led in waggons home ; 

And they piled them here in mountain tops 
For mountaineers to roam. 

He re is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail, 
Mount Eagle and Mount High; 

The mice that in these mountains dwell, 

No happier are than I! 

O what a joy to clamber there, 

O what a place for play, 

With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air. 

The happy hills of hay. 































































O^^pec^jed eggs the birdie 3irig5 

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^jjHe 3evilor^i^s oj" rope3 
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FAREWELL TO THE FARM 


The coach is at the door at last; 

The eager children, mounting fast 
And kissing hands, in chorus sing: 
Goodbye, good-bye, to everything! 

To house and garden, field and lawn. 
The meadow-gates we swang upon, 

To pump and stable, tree and swing. 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 

And fare you well for evermore, 

O ladder at the hayloft door, 

O hayloft, where the cobwebs cling, 
Goodbye, good-bye, to everything! 

Crack goes the whip, and off we go 
The trees and houses smaller grow; 
Last, round the woody turn we swing 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 


66 







07 















































SHADOW MARCH 


All round the house is the jet-black night: 

It stares through the window-pane ; 

It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light. 

And it moves with the moving flame. 

Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum, 

With the breath of the Bogie in my hair; 

And all round the candle the crooked shadows come 

And go marching along up the stair. 

/ 

The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp. 
The shadow of the child that goes to bed— 

All the wicked shadows coming, tramp, tramp, tramp, 
With the black night overhead. 



«« 










































IN PORT 


Last, to the chamber where I lie 
My fearful footsteps patter nigh. 

And come from out the cold and gloom 
Into my warm and cheerful room. 

There, safe arrived, we turn about 
To keep the coming shadows out. 

And close the happy door at last 
On all the perils that we past. 

Then, when mamma goes by to bed. 

She shall come in with tip-toe tread e 
And see me lying warm and fast 
And in the Land of Nod at last. 



... ^ 



















































































W HEN the bright lamp is carried in. 
The sunless hours again begin; 
O’er all without, in field and lane. 

The haunted night returns again. 

Now we behold the embers flee 
About the firelit hearth; and see 
Our faces painted as we pass. 

Like pictures on the window-glass. 

Must we to bed, indeed? Well then. 
Let us arise and go like men. 

And face with an undaunted tread 
The long, black passage up to bed. 


Farewell, O brother, sister, sire ! 

O pleasant party round the fire! 

The songs you sing, the tales you tell. 
Till far to-morrow, fare ye well! 


7S 





















































































75 








THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE 


When children are playing alone on the green. 

In comes the playmate that never was seen. 

When children are happy and lonely and good. 

The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. 

Nobody heard him and nobody saw. 

His is a picture you never could draw. 

But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home. 

When children are happy and playing alone. 

He 1 les in the laurels, he runs on the grass, 

He sings when you tinkle the musical glass ; 

Whene’er you are happy and cannot tell why 
The Friend of the Children is sure to be by! 

He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 

’T is he that inhabits the caves that you dig ; 

’T is he when you play with your soldiers of tin 
That sides with the Frenchman and never can win. 

’T is he, when at night you go off to your bed. 
Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head; 
For wherever they’re lying, in cupboard or shelf, 

’T is he will take care of your playthings himself! 


7« 





— 









































T hese nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest 
Where all my lead soldiers are lying at rest. 
Were gathered in autumn by nursie and me 
In a wood with a well by the side of the sea. 

This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!) 
By the side of a Held at the end of the grounds. 
Of a branch of a plane, with a knife of my own. 

It was nursie who made it, and nursie alone! 

The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey. 
We discovered I cannot tell how far away: 

And I carried it back although weary and cold. 

For though father denies it, I’m sure it is gold. 

But of all my treasures the last is the king. 

For there’s very few children possess such a thing; 

And that is a chisel, both handle and blade. 

Which a man who was really a carpenter made. 


7 t* 










































MY SHIP AND I 


O it’s I that am the captain of a tidy little ship. 

Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond ; 

And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about; 
But when I’m a little older, I shall find the secret out 
How to send my vessel sailing on beyond. 


For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm, 
And the dolly I intend to come alive ; 

And with him beside to help me, it’s a-sailing I shall go. 
It’s a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow. 
And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive. 


O it’s then you’ll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds. 
And you’ll hear the water singing at the prow ; 

For beside the dolly sailor, I’m to voyage and explore, 

To land upon the island where no dolly was before. 

And to fire the penny cannon in the bow. 



HI 























PICTURE BOOKS IN WINTER 


Summer fading, winter comes— 

Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs. 
Window robins, winter rooks. 

And the picture story-books. 

Water now is turned to stone 
Nurse and I can walk upon ; 

Still we find the flowing brooks 
In the picture story-books. 

All the pretty things put by. 

Wait upon the children’s eye. 

Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks 
In the picture story-books. 

We may see how all things are. 

Seas and cities, near and far. 

And the flying fairies’ looks. 

In the picture story-books. 

How am I to sing your praise. 

Happy chimney-corner days, 

Sitting safe in nursery nooks, 

Reading picture story-books ? 







sy 
























































BLOCK CITY 


What are you able to build with your blocks ? 
Castles and palaces, temples and docks. 

Rain may keep raining, and others- go roam, 

But I can be happy and building at home. 

Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea, 

There I’ll establish a city for me : 

A kirk and a mill and a palace beside. 

And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride. 

Great is the palace with pillar and wall, 

A sort of a tower on the top of it all, 

And steps coming down in an orderly way 
To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay. 

This one is sailing and that one is moored : 

Hark to the song of the sailors on board ! 

And see on the steps of my palace, the kings 
Coming and going with presents and things ! 

Now I have done with it, down let it go ! 

All in a moment the town is laid low. 

Block upon block lying scattered and free, 

What is there left of my town by the sea ? 

Yet as I saw it, I see it again, 

The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men. 
And as long as I live and where’er I may be. 

I’ll always remember my town by the sea. 






























































THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS 


At evening, when the lamp is lit. 

Around the lire my parents sit; 

They sit at home and talk and sing. 

And do not play at anything. 

Now, with my little gun, I crawl 
All in the dark along the wall, 

And follow round the forest track 
Away behind th: sofa back. 

There, in the night, where none can spy. 
All in my hunter’s camp I lie, 

And play at books that I have read 
Till it is time to go to bed. 

These are the hills, these are the woods. 

These are my starry solitudes; 

And there the river by whose brink 
The roaring lions come to drink. 

1 see the others far away 

As if in firelit camp they lay. 

And I, like to an Indian scout. 

Around their party prowled about. 

So, when my nurse comes in for me. 

Home I return across the sea. 

And go to bed with backward looks 
At my dear land of story books. 



87 












































THE LITTLE LAND 


When at home alone I sit 
And am very tired of it, 

I have just to shut my eyes 
To go sailing through the skies 
To go sailing far away 
To the pleasant Land of Play; 

To the fairy land afar 
Where the little people are; 
Where the clover-tops are trees. 
And the rain-pools are the seas. 
And the leaves like little ships 
Sail about on tiny trips; 

And above the daisy tree 
Through the grasses. 

High o’erhead the Bumble Bee 
Hums and passes. 

In that forest to and fro 
I can wander, I can go; 

See the spider and the fly. 

And the ants go marching by 
Carrying parcels with their feet 
Down the green and grassy street. 
I can in the sorrel sit 
Where the ladybird alit. 

I can climb the jointed grass; 

And on high 

See the greater swallows pass 
In the sky, 

And the round sun rolling by 
Heeding no such things as I. 

Through that forest I can pass 
Till, as in a looking-glass, 


Humming fly and daisy tree 
And my tiny self I see, 

Painted very clear and neat 
On the rain-pool at my feet. 

Should a leaflet come to land 
Drifting near to where I stand. 
Straight I’ll board that tiny boat 
Round the rain-pool sea to float. 

Little thoughtful creatures sit 
On the grassy coasts of it; 

Little things with lovely eyes 
See me sailing with surprise. 

Some are clad in armour-green— 
(These have sure to battle been!) 
Some are pied with ev’ry hue, 

Black and crimson, gold and blue; 
Some have wings and swift are gone; 
But they all look kindly on. 

When my eyes I once again 
Open, and see all things plain: 

High bare walls, great bare floor; 
Great big knobs on drawer and door 
Great big people perched on chairs. 
Stitching tucks and mending tears, 
Each a hill that I could climb. 

And talking nonsense all the time— 
O dear me, 

That I could be 
A sailor on the rain-pool sea, 

A climber in the clover-tree. 

And just come back a sleepy head. 
Late at night to go to bed. 





ss> 

































ARMIES IN THE FIRE 


The lamps now glitter down the street; 
Faintly sound the falling feet; 

And the blue even slowly falls 
About the garden trees and walls. 

New in the falling of the gloom 
The red lire paints the empty room: 
And warmly on the roof it looks. 
And flickers on the backs of books. 

Armies march by tower and spire 
Of cities blazing, in. the fire; 

Till as I gaze with staring eyes. 

The armies fade, the lustre dies. 

Then once again the glow returns; 
Again the phantom city burns; 

And down the red-hot valley, lo! 

The phantom armies marching go! 

Blinking embers, tell me true. 

Where are those armies marching to. 
And what the burning city is 

That crumbles in your furnaces! 


!M) 



































































































































OWN by a shining water well 
I found a very little dell, 

No high er than my head. 

The heather and the gorse about 
In summer bloom were coming out. 
Some yellow and some red. 

I called the little pool a sea; 

The little hills were big to me; 

For I am very small. 

I made a boat, I made a town, 

I searched the caverns up and down. 
And named them one and all. 


And all about was mine, I said, 

The little sparrows overhead. 

The little minnows too. 

This was the world and I was king ; 
For me the bees came by to sing. 
For me the swallows flew. 

I played, there were no deeper seas. 
Nor any wider plains than these 
Nor other kings than me. 

At last I heard my mother call 
Out from the house at evenfall. 

To call me home to tea. 


And I must rise and leave my dell, 
And leave my dimpled water well. 
And leave my heather blooms. 
Alas! and as my home I neared, 
How very big my nurse appeared. 
How great and cool the rooms! 



03 







































































































NIGHT AND DAY 


When the golden day is done, 
Through the closing portal, 
Child and garden, flower and sun. 
Vanish all things mortal. 

As the blinding shadows fall. 

As the rays diminish, 

Under the evening’s cloak, they all 
Roll away and vanish. 

Garden darkened, daisy shut, 

Child in bed, they slumber — 
Glow-worm in the highway rut. 
Mice among the lumber. 

In the darkness houses shine, 
Parents move with candles; 

Till on all, the night divine 
Turns the bedroom handles. 

Till at last the day begins 
In the east a-breaking, 
in the hedges and the whins 
Sleeping birds a-waking. 


In the darkness shapes of things. 
Houses, trees, and hedges 
Clearer grow; and sparrow’s wings 
Beat on window ledges. 

These shall wake the yawning maid; 

She the door shall open 
Finding dew on garden glade 
And the morning broken. 

There my garden grows again 
Green and rosy painted. 

As at eve behind the pane 
From my eyes it fainted. 

Just as it was shut away. 

Toy-like, in the even, 

Here I see it glow with day 
Under glowing heaven. 

Every path and every plot. 

Every bush of roses, 

Every blue forget-me-not 
Where the dew reposes. 


“Up!” they cry, “the day is come 
On the smiling valleys: 

We have beat the morning drum ; 
Playmate, join your allies!” 


96 




97 











































B IRDS all the sunny day 
Flutter and quarrel 
Here in the arbour-like 
Tent of the laurel. 


Younger than we are, 

O children, and frailer, 
Soon in blue air they’ll be, 
Sineer and sailor. 


Here in the fork 
The brown nest is seated; 
Four little blue eggs 

The mother keeps heated. 


We, so much older. 

Taller and stronger, 

We shall look down on the 
Birdies no longer. 


While we stand watching her, 
Staring like gabies. 

Safe in each egg are the 
Bird’s little babies. 


They shall go flying 
With musical speeches 
High overhead in the 
Tops of the beeches. 


Soon the frail eggs they shall 
Chip, and upspringmg 
Make all the April woods 
Merry with singing. 


In spite of our wisdom 
And sensible talking. 
We on our feet must go 
Plodding and walking. 


!>S 






















































W HEN the grass was closely mown. 
Walking on the lawn alone. 

In the turf a hole I found 
And hid a soldier underground. 

Spring and daisies came apace; 

Grasses hide my hiding place ; 

Grasses run like a green sea 

O’er the lawn up to my knee. 

Under grass alone he lies. 

Looking up with leaden eyes. 

Scarlet coat and pointed gun. 

To the stars and to the sun. 

When the grass is ripe like grain, 
When the scythe is stoned again. 

When the lawn is shaven clear. 

Then my hole shall reappear. 


I shall find him, never fear, 

I shall find my grenadier ; 

But for all that’s gone and come, 
I shall find my soldier dumb. 

He has lived, a little thing. 

In the grassy woods of spring ; 
Done, if he could tell me true. 
Just as I should like to do. 

He has seen the starry hours 
And the springing of the flowers; 
And the fairy things that pass 
In the forests of the grass. 

In the silence he has heard 
Talking bee and ladybird. 

And the butterfly has flown 
O’ er him as he lay alone. 


Not a word will he disclose, 
Not a word of all he knows. 
I must lay him on the shelf. 
And make up the tale myself. 


l-«rc 


1*!) 











THE GARDENER 


The gardener does not love to talk. 

He makes me keep the gravel walk ; 

And when he puts his tools away, 

He locks the door and takes the key. 

Away behind the currant row 
Where no one else but cook may go. 

Far in the plots, I see him dig. 

Old and serious, brown and big. 

He digs the flowers, green, red and blue. 
Nor wishes to be spoken to. 

He digs the flowers and cuts the hay. 

And never seems to want to play. 

Silly gardener! summer goes. 

And winter comes with pinching toes. 
When in the garden bare and brown 
You must lay your barrow down. 

Well now, and while the summer stays 
To profit by these garden days, 

O how much wiser you would be 
To play at Indian wars with me! 


loo 





■i. . 




^ 6 ; 


101 































G reat is the sun, and wide he goes 

Through empty heaven without repose ; 
And in the blue and glowing days 
More thick than rain he showers his rays. 

Though closer still the blinds we pull 
To keep the shady parlour cool, 

Yet he will find a chink or two 
To slip his golden fingers through. 

The dusty attic spider-clad 

He, through the keyhole, maketh glad; 

And through the broken edge of tiles. 

Into the laddered hayloft smiles. 

Meantime his golden face around 
He bares to all the garden ground. 

And sheds a warm and glittering look 
Among the ivy’s inmost nook. 

Above the hills, along the blue. 

Round the bright air with footing true. 

To please the child, to paint the rose. 

The gardener of the World, he goes. 


los 









































































THE FLOWERS 


✓ 


All the names I know from nurse: 
Gardener’s garters, Shepherd’s purse ; 
Bachelor’s buttons. Lady’s smock. 

And the Lady Hollyhock. 

Fairy places, fairy things. 

Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, 
Tiny trees for tiny dames— 

These must all be fairy names! 

Tiny woods below whose boughs 
Shady fairies weave a house ; 

Tiny tree tops, rose or thyme. 

Where the braver fairies climb! 

Fair are grown-up people’s trees, 

But the fairest woods arc these ; 

Where, if I were not so tall, 

[ should live for good and all. 


103 



AUTUMN FIRES 


In the other gardens 
And all up the vale. 

From the autumn bonfires 
See the smoke trail! 

Pleasant summer over 

And all the summer flowers. 
The red fire blazes, 

The grey smoke towers. 

Sing a song of seasons! 

Something bright in all! 
Flowers in the summer. 

Fires in the fall! 


104 




JOB 

























































HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS 


De ar Uncle Jim, this garden ground 
That now you smoke your pipe around, 
Has seen immortal actions done 
And valiant battles lost and won. 

Here we had best on tip-toe tread. 
While I for safety march ahead, 

For this is that enchanted ground 
Where all who loiter slumber sound. 

Here is the sea, here is the sand. 

Here is simple Shepherd’s Land, 

Here are the fairy hollyhocks. 

And there are Ali Baba’s rocks. 

But yonder, see! apart and high. 

Frozen Siberia lies; where I, 

With Robert Bruce and William Tell, 
Was bound by an enchanter’s spell. 


There, then, awhile in chains we lay. 

In wintry dungeons, far from day ; 

But ris’n at length, with might and main. 
Our iron fetters burst in twain. 

Then all the horns were blown in town; 
And to the ramparts clanging down. 

All the giants leaped to horse 

And charged behind us through the gorse. 

On we rode, the others and I, 

Over the mountains blue, and by 
The Silver River, the sounding sea. 

And the robber woods of Tartary. 

A thousand miles we galloped fast. 

And down the witches’ lane we passed. 
And rode amain with brandished sword. 

Up to the middle, through the ford. 


Last we drew rein—a weary three— 
Upon the lawn, in time for tea, 

And from our steeds alighted down 
Before the gates of Babylon. 


106 





'Jl 




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LJD 




M/w>/ - 







































































































































no 




































































I F two may read aright 

These rhymes of old delight 
And house and garden play, 

You two, my cousins, and you only, may. 

You in a garden green 
With me were king and queen. 

Were hunter, soldier, tar. 

And all the thousand things that children are. 

Now in the elders' seat 
We rest with quiet feet. 

And from the window-bay 
We watch the children, our successors, play. 

“ Time was,” the golden head 
Irrevocably said; 

But time which none can bind. 

While flowing fast away, leaves love behind. 


in 










































T HE red room with the giant bed 

Where none but elders laid their head; 
The little room where you and I 
Did for awhile together lie 
And, simple suitor, I your hand 
In decent marriage did demand; 

The great day nursery, best of all, 

With pictures pasted on the wall 
And leaves upon the blind— 

A pleasant room wherein to wake 
And hear the leafy garden shake 
And rustle in the wind— 

And pleasant there to lie in bed 
And see the pictures overhead— 

The wars about Sebastopol, 

The grinning guns along the wall, 

The daring escalade, 

The plunging ships, the bleating sheep. 

The happy children ankle-deep 
And laughing as they wade: 

All these are vanished clean away, 

And the old manse is changed to-day; 

It wears an altered face 
And shields a stranger race. 

The river, on from mill to mill, 

Flows past our childhood’s garden still; 

But ah! we children never more 
Shall watch it from the water-door! 

Below the yew—it still is there — 

Our phantom voices haunt the air 
As we were still at play, 

And I can hear them call and say; 

* Hoia far is it to Babylon ?’ 


Ah, far enough, my dear, 

Far, far enough from here— 

Yet you have farther gone I 
*Can I get there by candlelight ?' 

So goes the old refrain. 

I do not know—perchance you might — 

But only, children, hear it right, 

Ah, never to return again ! 

The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt, 

Shall break on hill and plain, 

And put all stars and candles out, 

Ere we be young again. 

To you in distant India, these 
I send across the seas, 

Nor count it far across. 

For which of us forgets 

The Indian cabinets, 

The bones of antelope, the wings of albatross, 

The pied and painted birds and beans, 

The junks and bangles, beads and screens, 

The gods and sacred bells. 

And the loud-humming, twisted shells ? 

The level of the parlour floor 

Was honest, homely, Scottish shore; 

But when we climbed upon a chair, 

Behold the gorgeous East was there! 

Be this a fable; and behold 

Me in the parlour as of old, 

And Minnie just above me set 

In the quaint Indian cabinet ! 

Smiling and kind, you grace a shelf 
Too high for me to reach myself. 

Reach down a hand, my dear, and take 
These rhymes for old acquaintance’ sake. 


111 ! 


























113 



















































































S OME day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn with proper speed. 
Little Louis Sanchez, will be given you to read. 

Then shall you discover that your name was printed down 

By the English printers, long before, in London town* 

In the great and busy city where the East and West are met P 
All the little letters did the English printer set ; 

While you thought of nothing, and were still too young to play, 
Foreign people thought of you in places far away. 

Ay, and while you slept, a baby, over all the English lands 

Other little children took the volume in their hands; 

Other children questioned, in their homes across the seas: 

Who was little Louis, won’t you tell us, mother, please? 

Now that you have spelt your lesson, lay it down and go and play. 

Seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of Monterey, 

Watching all the mighty whalebones, lying buried by the breeze. 

Tiny sandy-pipers and the huge Pacific seas. 

And remember in your playing, as the sea-fog rolls to you. 

Long ere you could read it, how I told you what to do ; 

And that while you thought of no one, nearly half the world away 

Some one thought of Louis on the beach of Monterey! 

































AS from the house your mother sees 
1 X Y ou playing round the garden trees. 
So you may see, if you will look 
Through the windows of this book. 
Another child, far, far away. 

And in another garden, play. 

But do not think you can at all. 

By knocking on the window, call 
That child to hear you. He intent 

Is all on his play-business bent. 

He does not hear; he will not look, 

Nor yet be lured out of this book. 

For, long ago, the truth to say. 

He has grown up and gone away. 

And it is but a child of air 
That lingers in the garden there. 























































































































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1900 










































































